Formula
by no2benry
Summary: Christina's had her baby, Wilhelmina has her pawn, and Daniel has a new half-sister. Betty helps him deal. Set in the not-to-distant future. DxB
1. Chapter 1: Love on a Technicality

**Obligatory disclaimer: I don't own "Ugly Betty" or any of the characters and/or brandnames mentioned. No profit made, 'cause I'm still broke as a joke, trust.**

**A/N: Well, gentle readers, here I go again. I'm working diligently on my other fics (picture a pale chick with red hair bent over a keyboard and sweating profusely) but this one was banging around in my head relentlessly. It's not AU; in fact, it takes place in the not-too-distant future, after Christina has the Bradhelmina Baby.**

**Ch. 1: Love on a technicality**

_Daniel staggered into Alexis's office, high on pills and pain and betrayal. "Did Dad tell you him and Milhelwina are getting married?" he slurred. "They'll probably have some devil spawn together..."_

"This is a freaking joke." Daniel had rolled down the car window and sat slouched over, palm to forehead, the knowledge that the proof that his prophecy had come true was swaddled in a cutesy blankie and waiting for him ten floors up weighing on his shoulders .

Betty sighed. Normally, she could coax him out of what she'd dubbed his "Dark Place" with a bagel. This issue went a little deeper than a simple case of Man PMS, and anyone who knew the back-story behind this latest event in the lives of the Meade clan would know immediately why.

Because mere hours earlier, at approximately 6:00 am, Christina had given birth to Dominique Victoria Slater—biological daughter of Bradford Meade and Wilhelmina Slater (and pawn of the latter), and Daniel and Alexis's half-sister.

Now Betty and Daniel sat in his Lambo in the hospital parking lot, the alt rock station cranked up and playing the same damn Nirvana song they'd played five minutes ago and effectively drowning out any points Betty was trying make about the baby being blameless, the baby being family, the baby blahblah, the baby, blah.

"She's your sister." Betty was starting to feel like a parrot, repeating the same damn phrase over and over. She knew the concept of family meant more to Daniel than he'd ever admit, but he seemed adamant. _For Christ's sake, Cobain, no I won't freaking entertain you…_

"It's my half-sister, if you want to get technical."

"_She's_ your blood, not a technicality. And, oh, Daniel, she's so beautiful—big blue eyes, like someone else I know…" Betty had already seen her, having acted as a pseudo-midwife/birthing coach at Christina's request and Wili's chagrin.

"Satan was beautiful. It's only fitting that his spawn be drop-dead gorgeous."

Betty clutched the bouquet of bluebells and baby's breath closer to her, as if it were the baby that she had to shield from the harsh words. She set her jaw. "Fine. Suit yourself. I'll be back later, but don't bother waiting around." She slammed the car door and stalked up the gravel pathway.

Daniel already knew he was going to go after her; God, he was always following her. But he waited until she disappeared behind the revolving glass doors so as not to look like the needy, castrated shmoe he'd become when he was around her. And he knew he was being a putz when not even Betty was willing to put up with him anymore.

Maybe he would glance at _it_ while he was begging Betty's forgiveness. Just a peek for curiosity's sake. Right.

He got out of the car.

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Christina was propped up on pillows and crooning to Dominique when Betty walked in. She tossed a strand of dishwater blond hair out of her eyes and passed the baby to Betty, who took her gratefully.

Betty paced around, jouncing gently, and the baby cooed in sleepy pleasure. "How do you feel?" Betty inquired softly.

"Like complete and utter shite," Christina responded cheerfully. She nodded weakly towards the I.V. "Think they'd notice if I slipped some vodka in there?"

Betty rolled her eyes, but she was really proud of her formerly heavy-drinking friend. As far as Betty knew, Christina hadn't touched alcohol since she'd been inseminated.

It had been a fairly smooth pregnancy, other than the undeniable squick factor of being the receptacle of a dead man's sperm, but the actual birth was another matter. Dominique was a nine pounder, forcing Christina to opt for the Cesarean to avoid further complications.

Both women turned around when they heard the sound of a throat clearing at the door. Daniel nodded to Christina. Christina nodded back.

She liked Daniel but she'd never felt entirely comfortable around him for several reasons. First of all, any woman would be a little on guard by his lady-killing reputation. Second, she was convinced he was his douchey father's son in many ways, despite Betty's claims that of the two Meade siblings, Alexis was the bloodthirsty one. Thirdly, the way he looked at Betty sometimes was enough to raise any girl friend's red flag; although she trusted Betty's assessment of people in general, she was very young and somewhat naïve. She only hoped Daniel loved Betty enough to refrain from acting like the horndog he was around her.

And fourthly, she didn't like powerful, sexy-as-hell men like Daniel Meade to see her in nothing but a paper shirt and covered by a thin white sheet, and looking like something that had just crawled out of the septic tank.

But Daniel's attention, as always, was mostly focused on Betty, who was smirking at him over the baby's crown of soft brown curls.

"If you say 'I told you so,' I'll give you the noogie of your life," he mock-threatened.

Betty stuck her tongue out at him. "Glad you found your man-parts somewhere in the glove compartment and decided to meet your sister."

She held out the infant for Daniel's inspection. Her eyes were closed and she was breathing in light little shallow bursts of warm air. Daniel felt something stir inside him. Alexis had told him that she was adorable, but words didn't do her justice. She was like a big baby doll.

When Betty took a step closer to deposit her in his arms, though, he backed up, startled. "I'll drop her," he whispered. "I've never held a baby before."

Betty smiled. "You won't drop her. You're a big, strong guy, you lift weights religiously, you'll be fine. Here you go…" and suddenly Dominique was in his arms.

The pounding of his nervous (and let's face it, smitten) heart was probably what caused the infant's eyes to open. They were indeed blue, like his father's, like Alexis's, like his. Yeah, they were mostly like his. He was not going to make a gigantic slobbering pantywaist of himself over this baby, he was determined. She spit bubbles. He was lost.

He held out a finger and she grasped it, and Betty, leaning against his shoulder, felt his inaudible sharp intake of breath. "She likes me." He was grinning now.

Betty nuzzled her cheek into his shirt, much like Dominique was doing; he did have a way with girls, after all. Or so she'd heard. "Technically, it's a reflex."

Now it was Daniel's turn to stick out his tongue. "Technically, she likes me," he insisted.

Betty couldn't argue.

Christina wearily tried to determine how much she'd die if she told Mommy and Daddy over there to get a room and let her get some rest.

**So, do you like? Or no? Either way, you know my review policy—anything is appreciated. Over and out. (For now.)**


	2. Chapter 2: A Wee Bit Besotted

**A/N: Thanks for all the rockin' reviews you guys left me. claps hands no2benry like, LOL. Wili will feature into this chapter, although I admit that she and her schemes aren't going to be the focus of this story. DXB is; I know, I know, try to contain your shock ;) Wili's uber-evil just serves as a kind of backdrop, if you will. Anyway, happy (I hope) reading!**

Betty reached over her sausage and pepper hero and poked Christina. 

Christina responded with a startled "Mmmmf!" She had been preoccupied of late, and Betty knew why.

"So…has she paid you yet?" Betty knew the kid-gloves-off method was the way to suss out anything wrong with her friend.

Christina shrugged. "Yeah, she gave me the $100,000 like she would give a waitress a tip. I felt very dirty."

"But Stuart's treatments are going well?" 

Christina's face brightened for a moment at the thought of her cute and equally Scottish hubby. "Yeah, as far as we can tell. He even has energy for…other things."

"Then let me guess…you're worrying about someone tiny and soft and slightly wrinkled?" Betty smiled gently.

Christina took a bite out of a bread stick as if she really had a vendetta against it. "It's just…Wilhelmina's such a bloody awful bitch!" Christina exploded. "She's already ruined that little Nico lass she banished to Paris, but was that enough? No! Now she has to screw up my baby. I mean, her baby…"

Betty knew this was the heart of the issue for Christina. Although she'd carried Dominique full-term, her friend had succumbed to the phenomenon of love at first jolting baby-kick. To see that precious child in Wili's well-manicured claws was too much for any of them to bear. Betty hugged Christina. "We'll just have to run a little interference, that's all. Wili lets you baby-sit sometimes right?" 

Christina nodded through her tears. Thank God the small bit of humanity in Wilhelmina the fashion industry hadn't burned away had seen fit to grant her this favor, at least.

"Well, as soon as you see Wili's plastic butt hop into that limo, you grab the youngling and head over to Daniel's loft. I'll be there, and we'll all devote some quality detoxifying time to our little Dom," Betty said.

Christina wiped her eyes. No wonder Daniel was head over heels for Betty…she was developing a little girl-crush herself. "Deal."

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That evening, after Dom had been cuddled, kissed, fawned over and tickled within an inch of her life, Christina, Betty and Daniel settled in to watch a movie as the baby napped. 

Christina found herself more entertained by Daniel's lovelorn behavior than the plot of the movie, and Betty's total obliviousness just added to the fun. The fact that Daniel picked _Cujo_ for their viewing pleasure spoke volumes—it was a typical guy maneuver. Girl gets scared, crawls all over boy, boy gets free lapdance with the terrified girl none the wiser. Cujo wasn't the only dog around, it seemed.

And, boy, was it working. As Cujo burst into the house, sending glass shards and wood splinters everywhere, Betty let out the girliest, Bettiest shriek possible and crawled over onto Daniel's lap. To Betty, it was time in her pajamas with her best guy friend. She couldn't see Daniel's face with hers buried in his neck—she wasn't aware that he was rocking back and forth slightly and holding her with same care and adoration that he'd held Dom with earlier. But Christina saw everything.

Her eyes met his over Betty's raven hair. His look was one of mute longing. Christina's was one of sympathy.

Betty finally regained control and sat up. Realizing she was straddling Daniel, her dignity in tatters, she sniffed and crawled off of him. Daniel immediately switched to teasing best friend mode so adeptly that Christina almost thought she'd imagined the look on his face moments earlier. 

"Bit of a dog phobia?" Daniel's smirk was audible.

"I'm more of a cat person. Kittens, really." Betty brought her knees up to her chest, tossed a pillow onto Daniel's knees, and then tilted over sideways, landing on him with a plop. She yawned. It had been a long week.

Christina took this as an intermission to go to the loo, winking at Daniel as she went and receiving a humorless eye roll in return.

Finding themselves alone, Daniel's fingers began to massage Sleepy!Betty's scalp. She sighed in contentment and leaned her head back even further to receive the full benefit of large strong Daniel hands.

"Mmm…that feels good. My head thanks you."

"Does it now?" 

"Mmmmhmm…"

"Betty?" He didn't know exactly what he was preparing to ask her, but he just had to keep talking to her. God, it was like sixth grade all over again…

"Yeah, sweetie?" Betty reached up and captured his hand, holding it close to her warm cheek.

_Would you be averse to the notion of having my babies? And by the way, did you think up any ideas for this month's "What's Hot" section?_

As Dominique's piercing shriek hit the air, both jumped, Betty because she was startled and Daniel because he was guilty of Sexy Thoughts about Betty in the first degree.

"I'll get her," Daniel said, heaving off the couch and heading to the bedroom. 

Betty followed, as the baby's cries had promptly stopped. All her female organs practically ignited at what she saw: Daniel standing in his wife beater in the moonlight, crooning softly to a tiny infant, persuading her to take her pacifier. 

"Big bro Daniel's got you, baby, yes he does…what's got my baby girl so pouty, hmmm? My sweet little Dom…" He rested back on the pillows with the now-cooing Dominque. He looked up to see Betty leaning against the doorframe, hip cocked, head tilted, and the look in her eyes nearly took his breath away. 

She padded over to the bed, and Daniel pulled the covers over them both, their rustling the only noise aside from the squelchy sucking sounds of Dom and her paci. Daniel glanced down at Betty, who had her head on his shoulder, her lips barely unconsciously grazing the hot skin there.

"A wee bit besotted, aren't we?"

Daniel jumped for the second time that night, resulting in Betty and Dom's squawks of sleepy protest. "No, I'm not!"

Christina laughed. "With the baby."

Daniel ducked his head. "Oh, yeah…I knew that."

**A/N: This thing was so sappy sweet, it might induce cavities, but I had a blast writing it. If you had a blast reading it or hate it with the passion of a thousand fiery suns, please let me know by leaving a review. :D**


	3. Chapter 3: Puking on the Mink

**A/N: Well, howdy, strangers. It's been awhile. How are things? I'm sorry for the dry spell, but the poo hit the fan at school after Spring Break, and let's just say my procrastination bit me in the butt. But I'm here now. With fanfic. Of the Detty variety. You guys are amazing. Reviews are still craved. I missed you. Hope you enjoy.**

Betty reached up as far as she could to dab the corner with pink paint. "Angel's Heavenly Rosebud" was the technical name for it, although according to Daniel, it should be "Daniel's Unholy Pink Gag Reflex." She had to primly remind him that it was his idea to set up a nursery for Dom in the spare bedroom of his apartment. Which meant, she reiterated with the whack of a roller, no more hoochies, Jim Beam, Becks, or late-night viewings of _9021-Ho_ on this baby-occupied, now-sacred ground.

Wilhelmina, as disenchanted and blatantly uninterested in motherhood as she ever was with poor Nico, had agreed to the arrangement because she didn't want, as she put it, Dom "puking on any more of my mink." Betty and Daniel suspected that she had more time for her evil plotting without a baby underfoot.

So here Betty was, on a shaky ladder that Daniel had told her in no uncertain terms that she was not to get on, while Daniel washed the paint off in the bathroom. He'd get the ceilings, he explained, and she would get the bottom half of the walls where it was nice and safe and low to the ground and Betty-proof. She and heights of more than three feet off the ground didn't mix.

Despite his condescending spiel earlier, Betty decided to stick it to The Man and climb up anyway. She didn't have all night to wait on Daniel's extensive personal hygiene ritual, after all, and she really wanted to get the room finished by eight o'clock. She couldn't tell him that, of course.

She wasn't surprised when big, warm hands closed around her waist and held her suspended in midair before letting her slide slowly down his body.

"Oh, for the love of crap," he whispered, kissing her cheek to lessen the severity of his words. "How many times have I told you to stay off this _frigging ladder_, you massive spaz?"

"Thanks, Dad," Betty snipped, deftly maneuvering under his elbow to slap him on the back of the head with a paint-drenched rag, causing him to curse loudly and stomp off to wash and gel his hair again.

"Don't use up all the hot water, Daniel," she called sweetly. "I need to shower before I go."

"_Need_?" Daniel mocked her desperate tone from the bathroom.

"Yes, AquaNazi, I'm covered in pink paint—so, so sexy for Randy, I'm sure."

All sounds of rustling stopped in the bathroom. "Sexy for whom, now?"

_Oops._

He leaned out the door, dark locks colored black with water, and looked at her expectantly.

"Daniel…"

"Yes, Betty?"

She twisted the rag in her hands and sat awkwardly on the stool. "I kind of…met someone." Her next words came out in a rush. "His name's Randall, well, Randy for short and he's a professor and he's wonderful and DO NOT get weird on me, Daniel. Henry's been gone awhile."

Daniel propped himself up against the doorjamb with one arm, a cocky pose to anyone who didn't know him well. "Weird? Who's weird, not me, have you done a criminal background check on him?"

_Oh, Christ on a cracker, here we go…_

Betty rolled her eyes. "I'm sure NYU did that for me before, you know, hiring him to shape young minds."

She grabbed her bag and ducked under his arm to get into the bathroom, put her foot on the small of his back and shoved lightly. "You and your hair gel and comb can make out on the couch and pout. I need to get ready." She closed the door just shy, Daniel thought, of a slam.

Daniel plopped down on his fashionable yet ass-chafing sofa. He and his gel were _not_ pouting. And if this "Randy" jerkoff couldn't appreciate Betty doused in pink paint… Maybe he should start letting Betty call him "Danny"—only Betty, mind you, but if she went for the kiddie nicknames, it could have its advantages.

He was more than a little hurt that she hadn't introduced him to this guy. He could so behave. That Brian dipshit from three months ago had just been overly sensitive…there was no need to run off screaming like a woman, no matter which one of Bradford's antique weapons Daniel had threatened his privates with. Besides, whenever he was serious about a girl, Betty was the first to know. Let's see, there was Sophia, Renee…Renee…

The bathroom door opened and a cloud of 80s music-video steam rolled out.

So did Betty.

She was still Betty, but Betty like he'd never seen her before. She was wearing a form-fitting velvety dress the color of dark emeralds. To his combined delight and dismay, the dress was cut a little above the knee, but dip low to expose a classy let daring amount of cleavage, cleavage that Daniel had always tried his damndest to pretend didn't exist during late nights at the office.

She still wore her signature red glasses but, combined with the black tresses piled on top of her head, it gave her a hot librarian look. The kind that would probably get CollegeProfessorBooknerdRandy all hot and bothered.

With that thought in mind, Daniel staggered over to the coat rack for her jacket—suede instead of puffy blue, damn it, he should've known something was up—and went to wrap it around her.

Betty knew the implications of the gentlemanly gesture and shot daggers at him the whole damn time.

"Keep this on during dinner." He cursed the cracking of his voice despite his efforts to keep it light and teasing. "It is the first date, after all."

"Actually, it's the third date," she murmured, eyes downcast. She shuffled endearingly on her stilettos—_stilletos!_—and, almost strangely shy, kissed him on the cheek before walking to the door.

"You have my number," he called after her.

Betty turned around and looked at him like he was handi-incapable. "Duh. Always," she said with a funny little half-smile that was worlds away from the megawatt kind she usually tossed out like candy.

He wondered why.

**Will dance for reviews...**


	4. Chapter 4: Bruised

**A/N: Many sunny thanks for the reviews…I'm now giddy xD This chapter has some D-R-A-M-A. Brace yourselves. Woooo.**

Daniel looked at the clock on his entertainment system. 11 pm. Daniel's brain insisted on torturing him with what base _he'd_ be at by now if he were on a date. Probably scoring a home run. God.

On the screen, Dora the Explorer was teaching him how to count in Spanish; Dom, colicky and cranky and decidedly unsleepy, was too busy chewing on his old Harvard shirt. He bounced her absently, but she was having none of it; her pacifier had gone upside his head only minutes earlier.

Gazing at Dora, Daniel flashed back to last year. Betty had just gotten back from Guadalajara and Daniel had refused to let on how much he'd missed her. Casually, he'd asked, _"So how was Dora the Explorer's trip?"_

He fondly recalled that it was one of the many times she should've slapped him and didn't.

God, he loved that girl. That woman. That kind, loyal, curvy little firebrand of a woman.

Feeling the warm, soft heaviness of Dom slump in his arms, he realized she'd finally deigned to go to sleep. Standing carefully, the baby on his shoulder, he carefully made his way to his bedroom, away from the paint fumes of the nursery. Rubbing her back gently, he kissed the baby-bird tufts of hair on the top of her head and laid her back on one of his pillows.

His cell rang and he rummaged around in his pants pocket quickly before it woke up Rosemary's Baby. Closing the door to the bedroom softly, he was surprised to see Hilda's name and number glow up from the screen.

"Hilda?"

She sounded tired, her voice brittle and tense. "Daniel, sorry to be calling so late. It's Betty."

His heart leaped in his throat, then sank down to quiver nauseatingly. "What about her?" he managed.

Hilda paused in loaded silence. "I assume you know about her date tonight—you two tell each other when you're about to go to the bathroom. Anyway, she came in about a half-hour ago, ran up the stairs and dove into her room. She refuses to come out. Now, I know my sister can be a little Princess Drama Queen sometimes, but Daniel, she's locked her door. I have a bad feeling about this. Maybe she'll let you in."

"Hold tight, Hilda, I'll be right over." Daniel grabbed his leather jacket and his keys and ran out the door. The buzzing of his mind on the long ride to Jackson Heights was deafening.

When he arrived at the Casa de Suarez, all the lights were out. Hilda had the door open before he even reached the bottom porch step. After a brief hug, she ushered him in, signaling him to be quiet.

"Papi and Justin are asleep. I don't want to freak Papa Grizzly out before there's something to really freak over."

Daniel nodded. "I've got it from here, Hilda," he breathed before darting up the stairs.

Stopping outside Betty's room, Daniel pressed an ear against the door. No sound of banshee-wailing, which was a good sign, he guessed, but Betty was more of a cold-shoulder than screaming-madly-at-the-top-of-her-lungs kind of gal anyway.

"Betty," he called softly. "It's me." Although Hilda had insisted she'd locked her door, Daniel was surprised to find it open with a soft click when he tried the knob.

The room was dark; the only light came from under the crack of the bathroom door that adjoined the two sisters' rooms. Damn. He should've known she'd pull this stunt. She'd unlocked her bedroom door to prove to the world that she was okay, and now she was going to play it off like she was just in the bathroom taking a shower. It was maddening.

What was worse was that, while she knew Daniel had no compunctions about following her into the ladies' room at work, her private bathroom would be another matter entirely. She could be naked, after all. And, after the vibes they'd been getting off each other lately, one of them seeing the other naked would be nothing less than earth-shattering.

Sensing that things were about to get awkward, Daniel shouted through the door. "Betty, you okay?"

A shuffling sound. "Yeah, I'm fine."

"Just so you know, if you don't come out in five minutes, I'll break down the door."

"No need to do that. And also, yeah right."

Daniel sighed. This was going to be a long night. "Okay, I lied. This door doesn't even lock anyway. I'll just open it and come right in."

"I'm naked."

"No, you're not."

"Fine, I'm on the toilet."

"Also bullshit. Tell me what's wrong."

"Nothing! Please just go away, Daniel."

"Oh, there's about a snowball's chance in hell of that. Here I come…"

He opened the door.

It seemed deceptively empty, but her stilettos lay haphazardly to the side.

On the counter, her red glasses lay staring back at him. They were cracked; it was the most frightening thing he'd ever seen.

He pulled back the shower curtain with little sea turtles on it. There she was, in the same knockout, make-Daniel-weak-in-the-knees little green dress, her knees pulled up to her chin, one soft cheek against the shower stall's porcelain side.

Daniel couldn't speak, couldn't think, couldn't even breathe. Because his girl's knees were scraped raw as if she had been thrown roughly to the ground and her face, when he'd held it for examination, displayed a split lip and a puffy eye, and her shoulder had fucking _fingerprints_ on it where someone had grabbed her.

Despite her soft whimper of protest, he reached down and picked her up; she automatically wrapped herself around him and buried her face in his neck, just like Dom sometimes. He walked out and sat down on the edge of her bed. She refused to meet his eyes and looked at Ariel's Disney Princess ones instead. Finally, she spoke.

"I was mugged."

"Liar," he said, tracing the purple bruises, already lightening to yellow, with the pad of his thumb. She leaned into his touch.

"How could I not see…that he was…Daniel, he's terrifying…" Her voice cracked and she shifted in his arms, rubbing her eyes.

"Shhh…" Daniel wasn't terrified. He was filled with inky-black, all-consuming rage, but terrified? No.

Nobody hurt Betty. Nobody. Everyone knew his rules on that account. Even Alexis, to whom it was made very clear that she could chop his balls off and play ping-pong with them, anything to make him pay for whatever the hell she was accusing him of this week, but she could not fuck with Betty. That was understood. Even Wilhelmina didn't cross that line anymore.

Daniel's mind flew through all the ways he could make Randy's death look like a very grotesque accident.

**Dun-dun-DUN. Is Daniel gonna take a page out of Bradford and Alexis's book and hire a hitman? Will he do it himself? Will he do it at all? Probably not—he just likes to think about it. Tell me what you think. Please. You must. :D**


	5. Chapter 5: Pancakes and Waffles

**A/N: So, it's been brought to my attention that there was a slight, shall we say, **_**inconsistency**_** in the previous chapter. So, in order to avoid getting Daniel charged with child neglect on top of everything else, let's just say one of his many bodyguards was outside his apartment watching tirelessly to make sure no one kidnapped the next Meade heir, hmmm? Sounds good to me, OKAY, moving on…;D**

**It's been just short of forever since I've updated this fic, and I sincerely apologize :P But I found myself in the angsty frame of mind needed to write this thang once more. Your reviews are awesome as always, and since I'm such a review-whore, I'll keep right on requesting them, shameless hussy that I am ;) **

"I have to leave." Betty splashed water on her face and winced at the sting. "Dad, Hilda, Justin…it will only scare them to see me like this." She dried her face with a towel and gestured blindly towards Daniel, who was leaning against the doorframe, his face inscrutable. "I didn't want you to see me like this, either," she finished, a trace of gentle embarrassment in her voice.

Daniel chose to ignore her last statement. He had to stay cool, had to ignore the hot red stock-footage mushroom cloud of rage that had exploded behind his eyes and was spreading residue. "Fine," he responded, his voice clipped. "Let me go tell Hilda that we're going out for a drive and some midnight tacos and that your date just tried to cop a feel instead of…" He clenched his jaw. _Instead of slapping you around, GOD, will I tear him a new…_ "You can shimmy out the window and down the tree, right?" he opted instead, his voice coming out all gung-ho and 'let's do this, little campers!'-ish. God.

Betty flexed her sore limbs and there was a spark of her usual self at the slight challenge in his voice. "I'll manage," she said softly.

Daniel felt a bit of warmth at her tenacious expression; if he wanted Betty to do anything, all he had to do was throw down the gauntlet and dare her to pick it up. "My car's unlocked. You're staying at my place, though I don't know how you're going to explain your sleeping arrangements to your family come tomorrow morning."

"I'll just tell them that I couldn't sleep after our late-night drive and went over to your apartment to get some much-needed work done before the deadline," Betty shrugged, bitterly nonchalant, the proposed lie coming easier to her lips than he would have ever thought possible. She poked around her sore face. "Hopefully the damage will have faded by then, at least to the point where some expertly applied concealer should do."

Daniel rummaged about in her closet, found what he was looking for, and hoisted her "Beauty and the Beast" overnight bag onto his shoulder. He didn't bother to tell her that, from his very limited bar-room brawling and expansive college football experiences, bruises tended to gain a sharper definition and a grotesque rainbow of colors before they'd even consider fading away.

But then again, Betty was no expert on bruises of any kind. She'd known nothing but kind touches all of her life, and was used to being virtually doted on by everyone who'd gotten to know her. And if Daniel had anything to say about it, that's all she would feel from here on out, as long as he had breath in his body. Betty was _his_. His to protect and comfort and adore blindly. Bradford had given Betty to _him_, not Alexis or Henry or Gio, and sure as hell not Randy.

Randy had to be made to understand that.

And he would.

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The drive over to Daniel's apartment was too dreamlike to be awkward and too awkward to be comfortable.

Daniel felt he should say something comforting, but when he opened his mouth to speak, all his brain supplied was, "Randy should be at the bottom of the East River fairly soon."

So he kept his pie-hole shut. Women, Betty had imperiously told him once, do not want men to solve their problems. They just want to be listened to and understood, all in due time.

Although Daniel had considered himself well-versed in the ways of women, Betty had quickly shot that boasting point straight to hell within about a week of meeting her. Daniel had realized that he was well-versed in the ways of a certain type of woman only: the bitchy, clingy, materialistic kind, the kind that he could placate with jewelry without them realizing they'd just been paid as well as any whore.

With nice girls, however, Daniel was only a tiny step above pulling their pigtails to get their attention, which is where he stood with Betty most of the time.

He desperately wanted her to look at him and talk to him and help him plot Randy's imminent demise. But no.

They reached the door of his apartment and nudged the dozing night watchman, to whom he'd given a hefty tip to guard Dom, out of the way. He sleepily tipped his cap and shuffled off, used to Daniel Meade's late-night escapes with twittering females. He vaguely noted that the small, curvaceous, solemn Latina at his side wasn't his usual style, but it wasn't his place to comment on such things.

Once inside, Betty padded over to the sofa and busily began fluffing pillows. It was the first thing she always did when she entered Daniel's loft, but the dead stillness in her eyes made the familiar ritual creepy instead of comforting.

Daniel ran a hand through his hair, let out a breath he didn't know he was holding, and declared, "I'm making you some coffee."

Betty explicably flinched at the word. Odd. "Daniel, that isn't necess…"

"Betty, I'm making you some damn coffee. Decaf, don't worry." Betty would not deny him his own comforting ritual. He would take the loft apart like a caged bear if he didn't have something to do with his hands.

Betty, too exhausted and freaked out to argue, grabbed her bag and headed for the bathroom for her second shower of the night, giving the kitchen a wide berth as she went. She'd had enough of kitchens for one night.

Slouched against the shower stall's burgundy tile, she mused on how excited she'd been when she'd stood under the hot spray the first time around. Getting ready for her date with the dreamy college professor.

God, what a naïve child she was.

Making her way back to the living room, she found Daniel making up the rollout bed attached to the sofa and testing out the cushy-ness of the cushions.

"I'll sleep here." She crawled up beside him, one smooth knee extended to mark her territory, and Daniel tried to ignore how her satiny pink nightgown was hiked up to her thigh as she did so. He'd have to be one sick fuck to even remotely entertain thoughts of that sort about her tonight.

"No, no. You'll take my bed. I don't have cooties, I promise."

Betty's mouth quirked in the hint of a smile and she wrapped her arms around his neck, stroking his hair as if he were a favorite old pet. "I know that, sweetie. I just don't want to put you out."

Daniel gently disentangled himself from her, hoping that she didn't notice his swift covering of his crotch with a pillow. "You won't be. Sleeping on the couch builds character. All the lumps and squeaks and whatnot. Good for a poor little rich boy like me."

Betty really didn't know why they couldn't both share a bed. They'd shared eating utensils and even toothbrushes in the past and Daniel hadn't gone all Victorian on her then. And God knows they'd snuggled together plenty of times with Dom between them.

The inner workings of the male mind baffled her. One minute he'd be telling her dirty jokes as if she were one of the guys, and the next minute he was literally shielding her eyes from the contents of _Player_ magazine, a Meade publication, no less.

Assuming the argument over sleeping arrangements was over, Daniel reached over to the coffee table and then straightened, handing her a steaming mug of coffee.

Normally, she'd have been all over it. Daniel was the only one who knew how to make her coffee exactly right and vice versa. But the smell nauseated her tonight.

Noting the paleness of her face, he leaned over and touched her cheek gently. She turned to him, her eyes wide.

"Hey. Aliens aren't gonna come crawling out of the mug to chew on your face. What's the matter?" he teased gently.

Betty picked at the hem of her nightgown, forcing her pinkie into the holes in the webs of lace. When she looked up, it was as if someone had abruptly called her name.

Betty's words came out in halting succession. "He i-invited me up for coffee. Randy, he invited me up, and…Daniel, there was coffee, but then he shoved me up against the counter, and then I pushed him but he wouldn't stop…" Tears were rolling down her face. "God, I'm stupid, so stupid, I thought he just wanted to talk…_Daniel_…"

As he instinctively reached for her, Daniel remembered some psychobabble Betty had told him once, about how girls were like pancakes and guys were like waffles. Girls consider all experiences and their consequences all at once, spread out smooth like syrup over a pancake, in order to sort things through.

Guys, on the other hand, compartmentalized their issues, like syrup going into the nooks of a waffle.

Randy, by Daniel's estimation, was filling several compartments, and all of them were labeled "Die."

As he cradled a trembling Betty on his lap and murmured smoothing nonsensical sounds to her, Daniel mused in a detached sort of way that he had always understood the full scope of the power the Meade name alone possessed. But he'd always used it for trivial things, frivolous things. Besides, Betty always mocked him soundly for pulling the name card. But nonetheless, he could stroll into any exotic, booked-up-for-months, ungodly-waiting-list exclusive resort he wanted and get a room, simply by flashing his famous grin. He could make an exclusive restaurant open up during a blizzard just for him, with all the staff waiting attendance (Betty hadn't minded so much, when it was for her birthday).

But he'd always disdained the way his father, with one well-placed word, one wave of his hand, could destroy someone's reputation, career, life.

Now though…now the idea was positively intoxicating. It made sense in the long run, Daniel reasoned with his conscience, the intangible thing he came to think of as "Betty." The police would never believe the testimony of a girl from the neighborhood over a respected academic.

It was up to Daniel to see that justice was served to this cowardly girl-beating asshat on a silver platter emblazoned with the Meade name.

A slight hiccup from Betty and a punch to his shoulder focused his attention back to her.

"Cease your evil plotting, Meade. I don't want you involved."

Now that was just scary. Daniel tried for indignation.

"How do you know I was plotting, hmm? I could have been thinking about buying you a teacup poodle to make you feel better!"

Betty smirked. "Oh, come on. You were doing that thing were you get all still and your face relaxes and your eyes turn a paler shade of blue."

"I do nothing of the sort," he argued feebly. Swiftly changing the subject while he still had some mystique left, he said, "How did you get away from him, anyway?" He genuinely wanted to know. Sure, Betty was from Jackson Heights and came from tough Suarez stock, but she was just so tiny…

Betty looked up at him through her lashes. "I introduced his wrought-iron skillet to his nuts. They should drop back out in about a week."

Words simply could not describe how much he loved this woman.

You know, as a friend.

He was sure it was an accident when her lips and tongue leisurely traced the line of his jaw, but that didn't stop him from getting a boner the size of the Meade Publications building.

Swiftly lifting her body weight off of the danger zone, Daniel kissed the top of her head and set her away from him. It was the hardest thing he'd ever done, but it was necessary to ensure she wouldn't run screaming from the room. "All right, Xena, get to bed."

Betty stood up and shuffled her bare feet on the cold polished floor.

"Daniel?"

"Yeah?" _Please, God, don't let her ask what I think she's gonna ask, please…_

"Can I sleep with you? I mean, _may_ I sleep with you? Oh, God, that's not the part of that sentence I meant to edit…"

_Sweet Jesus, girl._ "Betty, maybe that's not such a good idea…"

"I didn't mean _that_ kind of sleeping together," Betty hastily said, her face blushing beet red. "It's just that…I feel safe…with you."

Betty didn't know that in order to convince him of the innocence of her request, she'd made everything a hell of a lot more complicated. She'd given him an excuse to hold her body next to his.

An excuse that, God help him, his conscience and heart and self-control were still too underdeveloped not to take.

He stood up slowly, deliberately, and came to tower over her. She stared back at him with something stronger than gratitude and warmer than defiance.

She stopped him with a gentle hand on his bicep as he began to lead her back to his bedroom.

"Dom's in there sleeping."

Daniel looked at her oddly. "So?"

"Can we just sleep here?" Betty sank back down on the rollout bed.

Daniel didn't really want to sort through reasons why Betty didn't want to sleep with him, emphasis on _sleep_, in the same room as an equally innocent baby girl.

But he found himself agreeing with the sentiment.

He stripped off his shirt out of habit before his tired mind once again reminded him where and with whom he would be sleeping.

As he quickly moved to put it back on, Betty, already tunneled underneath the covers, snorted "Don't be a prude." He cast it to the side once again.

No sooner had he slid in on his side than he heard soft snores coming from the exhausted little woman beside him.

He wondered what it said about him, that he could spend all night propped up on his elbow, watching her sleep.

**Whoa, sappy, and angsty and melodramatic…oh, my. ;D **


End file.
